Morning came quietly, spreading across my room with a gentle warmth that felt both welcoming and bittersweet. I sat up slowly, my heart beating with an aching tenderness as the realization settled softly within me: today was the day.
Every detail felt more vivid, more poignant—the soft rustle of my sheets, the warm glow of sunlight slipping through curtains, the distant murmur of students already beginning their routines. Everything was familiar, yet somehow felt as though I was seeing it for the first time.
With careful, deliberate movements, I gathered my bag—the letters tucked safely within, each envelope sealed with a quiet promise—and stepped toward the door. My hand lingered gently on the knob, heart twisting faintly with the weight of goodbye.
As I stepped into the hallway, silence enveloped me, strangely comforting yet quietly lonely. Each footstep echoed softly through empty corridors as I made my way toward the main entrance of the academy, intending to leave unseen, quietly, as I'd planned.
But plans rarely unfolded as intended.
As I approached the grand double doors, my heart stilled softly.
Because they were there.
All five of them—Lillian, Camille, Claire, Diana, Tessa—standing quietly, waiting for me. Their expressions held quiet understanding, sadness, warmth, and something deeper—something gentle yet fierce.
Lillian spoke first, stepping forward slowly, her voice gentle yet firm. "Did you really think we'd let you leave without saying goodbye?"
I swallowed gently, eyes stinging softly. "I wanted to spare you."
Claire stepped closer, violet eyes shimmering gently with emotion, her smile small but warm. "We don't need sparing, Sera. We just need you."
Camille nodded softly, calm eyes steady yet deeply affectionate. "We needed this moment. A proper goodbye."
Diana smiled gently, voice quiet and warm. "A goodbye doesn't mean forever."
Tessa remained quiet, yet her presence spoke volumes—her gaze calm, understanding, supportive.
Lillian moved closer, taking my hand gently, her warmth quiet yet steadying. "We'll wait for you."
Claire nodded enthusiastically, though her eyes were gentle. "You'd better send letters—all the time."
"Every chance I get," I whispered softly.
Diana smiled faintly. "Good. We'll hold you to that."
Camille stepped closer, gently brushing her fingertips against my shoulder, her touch cool yet comforting. "Be safe, wherever your journey takes you."
Tessa's voice was soft yet steady. "Trust yourself, Sera. You've always known more than you give yourself credit for."
Their quiet words wrapped gently around my heart, warmth and support weaving delicately together, forming a gentle yet strong foundation beneath my feet.
Slowly, one by one, they stepped forward—gentle hugs, whispered promises, quiet laughter, and tender embraces weaving together into one beautiful, bittersweet moment.
When they stepped back again, my heart felt impossibly full, tenderly aching yet quietly strengthened.
"I'll come back," I whispered gently. "I promise."
"We'll be waiting," Lillian murmured softly, her eyes gentle yet strong.
With one last lingering look at each of them, I stepped slowly toward the doors, pushing gently forward into the bright sunlight that spilled warmly across the academy grounds.
My footsteps felt steady, my heart resolute. Though each step forward carried me away from them, I could still feel their warmth at my back—their gentle strength, quiet love, unwavering support.
As I reached the gates and took my first steps beyond familiar walls, my heart twisted gently yet beautifully.
Because this wasn't truly goodbye.
This was simply the beginning of something new—a journey toward answers, growth, and understanding. And wherever it led me, no matter how far, I'd always carry them with me.
And perhaps, someday soon, our paths would cross again beneath gentle sunlight or soft starlight, hearts open, memories fresh.
But until then, I'd walk forward bravely, knowing that the quiet whispers of their love, friendship, and support would always guide me home.
The road beyond the gates was quieter than I expected.
No thunderous farewell, no dramatic wind to sweep away the final words. Just the soft crunch of leaves beneath my boots, the weight of my bag on my shoulder, and the gentle warmth of sunlight pressing against my back—like a hand easing me forward.
I didn't look back.
If I had, I might have run straight into their arms again.
So I kept walking. Past the stone path that led into the outer village. Past the familiar hedge that separated academy grounds from the rest of the world. Past the old well where Claire once splashed water all over me just to make me laugh.
The autumn air was crisp, laced with the scent of pine and smoke, and the sky above was a hazy gold, dappled with drifting clouds. There was beauty in it, quiet and untamed—so different from the carefully trimmed elegance of academy life. Out here, the world didn't ask me to be anyone. Not the top student. Not the feared villainess. Not the object of anyone's affection.
Just… Sera.
I traveled light—just enough food to last a few days, a change of clothes, my dagger, and the bow Eleanor had gifted me. And the letters. The ones I left behind for them. One each, folded with shaking hands and sealed before I could change my mind.
The first night, I stayed in a quiet inn at the edge of the forest. It was plain—wooden walls, creaking floors, a mattress that was far too stiff—but it was quiet. And I needed quiet. The innkeeper didn't ask questions. She offered me tea and bread and a warm smile I didn't deserve.
When I finally lay down that night, staring at the ceiling, the silence hit harder than I expected.
It wasn't the kind of silence I was used to—the comfortable hush of the garden, the soft lilt of Camille's voice, the warmth of Lillian's laughter against my shoulder, the way Claire always made too much noise just to fill the space. Diana's calculated presence. Tessa's steady breathing at my back.
This silence was different.
Lonelier.
I turned onto my side, curling slightly, clutching the edge of the blanket.
I missed them.
It was only day one, and I missed them.
I tried to ignore the tightness in my chest. The ache that curled deep in my ribs. This was what I wanted—wasn't it? Space to grow. Space to breathe. Space to figure out who I was without them watching.
But gods, it hurt.
"You're stronger now." Tessa's voice echoed faintly in my memory.
"We'll wait for you." Lillian.
"Be safe." Camille.
"Send letters." Claire.
"We'll be here." Diana.
I exhaled softly, burying my face in the crook of my arm.
They hadn't tried to stop me. They'd let me go.
That was the worst part.
Because they trusted me.
And now, all I had to do was become someone worth that trust.
So the next morning, I got up. I tied back my hair. I packed my things, thanked the innkeeper, and walked further down the road—past whispering trees and wide meadows and narrow, winding trails. I met strangers who didn't know my name, bought fruit from a sleepy old farmer who called me "child" with a smile, and stood at the edge of a riverbank just to watch the water flow.
I didn't know where I was going yet. Not exactly.
But for now, that was okay.
Because I wasn't running anymore.
I was searching.
And somewhere along this road—wherever it led—I was going to find her again.
Me.
And so I walked, I didn't have a destination, but I just knew I had to keep going. Days passed.
By the fifth day, I'd stopped counting the miles.
The landscape shifted slowly as I walked—forests giving way to rolling fields, the horizon stretching open like an invitation. Villages appeared and faded behind me, their names already slipping from memory. The people were kind, curious, and simple. No one looked at me like I was dangerous. No one whispered behind fans or curtsied too deeply. Here, I was no villainess, no academy prodigy.
I was just a girl traveling alone, with too many thoughts and not enough silence to drown them.
Every night, I'd camp or find the cheapest lodging in town. I grew used to the ache in my legs, the weight of my pack, the hum of magic resting just beneath my skin. Some nights, I sat beneath the stars with my knees pulled to my chest, staring into the fire until the logs crumbled to ash. Other nights, I wrote.
Not letters.
Just… notes.
Fragments.
Camille always made the best tea.Claire would've jumped into this river just for fun.Tessa wouldn't have said a word—but she'd be standing beside me, like she always did.I wish I could've told Diana how safe her voice made me feel.Lillian would have collected every flower along this path until she had enough to crown us all.
Sometimes I smiled. Sometimes I cried. I didn't always know which would come.
In one town—a small lakeside village—I stopped longer than usual. Just two nights. I helped the local apothecary organize herbs. In return, she gave me a small jar of lavender balm and a fresh cloak lined with fur.
"You have tired eyes, child," she said, brushing a wisp of hair from my face like a mother might.
I smiled softly, unsure what to say. Because yes, I was tired—but I was healing, too. Slowly.
On the second night, as I sat at the end of a rickety wooden dock, I watched the lake reflect the stars like shattered pieces of the sky. The air was cold, and the wind slipped over the water like a whisper.
That was when I pulled out one of the sealed letters.
Claire's.
I hadn't planned to take them with me. But at the last second, something in me refused to leave without copies. So I carried them—those five folded confessions of love and farewell.
I ran my fingers along the edge of the envelope, heart aching softly.
I wondered what she thought when she read it.
Did she cry?
Did she laugh?
Did she yell at the sky, demanding to know why I was such an idiot?
Probably all three.
I set the letter down beside me and whispered into the night, "I miss you."
My voice didn't echo. It wasn't meant to.
It was just a truth that needed saying.
That night, I dreamed.
Not of my past. Not of pain.
But of the garden. Of sunlight. Of five voices laughing all at once. Of hands reaching for mine—warm, steady, soft.
And a whisper.
"Come home when you're ready.""We'll be here.""You'll always be ours."
When I woke, my cheeks were wet.
But I felt a little lighter.
The road stretched on, but for the first time, I wasn't afraid of how long it might take.
Because this journey wasn't about running from them anymore.
It was about making sure that when I finally turned back…
I would know exactly who I was.